A smile, and Fifi-- not the garrulous type even in her element-- lapses into companionable silence, leading the way through winding (and increasingly shoddy) city streets to a compact but charming little theatre sandwiched between two tenements.
A young man, plump and blond with a handsome, dimpled smile, hawks refreshments just outside the doors: he's midway through a transaction when his eyes catch on Fifi, and he hurries through the rest of it in order to turn and embrace her on her approach.

"Marcel," she gasps, face buried in his shoulder, "you got tall! Maker, where's that little boy?"

He blushes, grinning from her to Xiomara, whose appearance causes the color to deepen.
"Selling snacks, I guess," he lamely replies, "but Maman's still running costumes, she's going to lose her mind when she sees you."